


Adjacent, Against, Upon

by firebrands



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Politics, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Political Campaigns, Smoking, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-07 23:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18883927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebrands/pseuds/firebrands
Summary: A political AU!Steve Rogers is running as the Mayor of somewhere, America. Tony Stark, his campaign manager, deals with a candidate who isn’t interested in lying, and just wants to do good by these citizens, god damn it.





	Adjacent, Against, Upon

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not American so all inconsistencies there are my fault! Title is the same as a poem I took inspiration from ([“Adjacent, Against, Upon” by Rick Barot](https://poets.org/poem/adjacent-against-upon))
> 
> Also this is my first time writing for this fandom, hehe!!! Feedback would be much appreciated. :)

The room was silent save for the sound of the news anchor recapping the videoclip they'd just played.

Imperceptibly, Tony's hand clenched into a fist. Natasha sighed and turned back to her laptop, scrolling through tweets mentioning Steve.

"They should be here soon," Bruce said quietly, looking up from his phone. "Next engagement is just the dinner with the veterans tonight."

"Okay," Tony said, his voice calm. His knuckles were white.

"—follow up on the profiles for tomorrow, I want to know who were meeting and what questions they'll be asking," Steve continued to say as he opened the door as Pepper trailed behind him.

"What the fuck was that?" Tony barked, turning to Steve. 

Steve looked up from his phone. "What?" Pepper, too, had stopped in her tracks. 

"What the fuck—" Tony gestured to the TV, "was that?"

"Tony," Steve said, his tone measured but eyes hard, "let's talk inside my office." Steve had crossed the room and his hand was at the door. "Come on," he beckoned.

Tony stared at him for a few seconds before walking out.

The team, at this point used to these outbursts, dutifully turned back to their respective laptops. Steve shut his eyes and breathed for a few seconds before entering his office and shutting the door.

After a beat, everyone crowded around Clint and Sam. “So what caused it?” Bruce asked. Clint shrugged, eyes never leaving his laptop as he sorted through photos. 

“Come on,” Natasha said, reaching out and stilling Clint’s hand from clicking on his mouse. 

“Some vet brought it up?” Clint said. “I mean, maybe that was it?”

“I don’t think we should be… you know. Be hypothesizing. Anyway. Steve might hear.” Sam said, eyeing Steve’s closed door. They could all see him through the slits in the blinds; he was pacing while reading one of the papers from on the pile on his desk. Silently, everyone willed him not to pull out his phone and check Twitter.

“The one time I don’t attend an event,” Natasha said, frustrated. Everyone avoided her eyes. “I’m going to talk to Tony,” Natasha said, getting up and heading to the door.

"Hey," Natasha said, as she stepped outside.

"Don't," Tony said, and raised a hand towards her. “Do not.” Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before he tossed his pack to Natasha.

"Media's not even trying to contact me about it," Natasha said after she lit her cigarette. “They’ve just been playing the clip on loop.”

“Figures,” Tony said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Fuck this. Fuck it all to hell, and fuck him,” Tony said as he adjusted his tie. “What a fucking idiotbrained—” Tony stopped when he saw Nat looking up at him, expression calm.

“It’s not that bad,” she said. 

“I’ll handle it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get to be pissed off about having to handle it.” Tony fiddled with his tie some more before deciding to take it off. “Also ensure that you never miss an event with media attendees.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Natasha voice had a sharp edge to it.

Tony stuffed his tie into his pocket as he stepped back inside the office and headed towards Steve’s room. Clint was helping Sam choose footage for editing, and Pepper and Bruce were looking through tweets on her laptop.

Tony took a steadying breath before pulling the door open.

Steve looked up from his stack of papers, eyebrow arched. “Hope you’re happy with that display,” he said.

“I could say the same to you.” Tony reached over Steve’s desk for a whiteboard marker and flicked the blinds to Steve’s office shut. “What were you thinking?” Tony didn’t look to see his reaction, instead redrawing a table on Steve’s windows from memory: Key message, supporting pillars. The red ink was bright against the background of the white blinds. “I mean you just. Just, totally, you know, fucked everything and—”

Behind him, Steve sighed. Tony startled as he felt Steve’s hand on his elbow, stopping his scribbling. “I told you from the start that I didn’t want to lie. About anything. And I knew back then that that would cause trouble — and that's what I hired you for, right?" There was a small quirk to Steve lips, and his eyes searched Tony for any form of acceptance. 

Tony looked down at Steve's hand, which hadn't left his elbow. Steve, belatedly taking notice, pulled it away quickly. 

"Look, Steve. Today was supposed to be easy," Tony said, the metal of the marker clicking against the glass. "We were just supposed to drill down your commitment to addressing the issue of homeless veterans. Everyone supports veterans. This should’ve been a slam dunk for you." Tony pulled down on his cuffs, one of his tells of when he was impatient. "Now... Now no one cares about that. Did you think of that before you answered that question?"

*

As usual, the media had swarmed around Steve as he left the venue — this time, a high school auditorium they'd rented out to house different stakeholders supporting Steve's advocacy for vets. After delivering his speech and answering some questions, the floor had been opened for the vets to share their own stories, for them to talk about their difficulties settling back into civilian life, and some stories of how the army had just fucked them over. 

Bucky had led Steve out of the exit towards the waiting van, a hand held in front of them in vain attempt to keep media away from them.

“Mr. Rogers, can we get a statement? There’s a Twitter account that’s posted numerous photos—“

“No questions please,” Bucky said gruffly, angling his body to better box them out. Steve made eye contact with the reporter, a young man who’d been trailing the campaign and doing everything possible to try and get a scoop over everyone else. Either he’s just an overeager reporter, Tony had told him, or he’s a blogger — either way, steer clear and stick to your talking points.

“Mr. Rogers, is it you in the photo? Can we get a statement on your sexuality?” A phone was shoved in his face, and Steve’s cheeks went red with memory. It was from years ago, fresh out of college at someone’s party—

“Look buddy, I don’t see how that’s any of your business—” Bucky said, turning away from Steve and facing the journalist squarely.

“Isn’t it my business? Is it you, Steve? We deserve to know!” The reporter pressed, his body flush against Bucky’s, a phone trained at Steve’s face, recording his reactions. Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed, a scowl on his face. In a flash, he remembered the stories of the veterans who had been sent home without a dime just because of who they loved.

“Yes it is, Jonah, that’s me.” Steve said. Bucky turned to him, mouth open. Steve had stopped just a few paces from the car and squared his shoulders. The rest of the crowd had stopped with him, vibrating with anticipation for his next words. 

“Yes, I’m gay,” he said. There was a beat, and the only sound came from Clint’s camera as he took a photo of the scene, then: The crowd erupted into questions, and Steve frowned for a second before he caught himself, then waved before stepping into the SUV.

“Holy fucking shit,” Steve heard Clint his to Sam as they settled into the back seat. And then, the voice was directed at him: “Holy fucking shit, Steve.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said from the driver’s seat, turning the wheel to pull out of the parking lot. “Everyone shut up.” 

Steve was thankful for the silence, his body still wound tight with tension - what had come over him? He sucked in a large breath and looked outside. “What’s up next again, Pepper?”

Pepper turned to him from the passenger’s seat. “Sir, we’re just on the way back to the office. Tony’s likely going to want a debrief about this.”

“Of course,” Steve said. His gaze met Bucky’s in the rearview mirror before Steve closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool window, steeling himself for the conversation to come.

*

“This isn’t going to do your numbers any favors,” Tony said flatly, scrolling through reports on his phone.

Steve has the courtesy to act chastened as he looked at Tony from where he leaned on his desk. “Wouldn’t this work in our favor though? Make me, you know. Relatable or whatever?”

“Or whatever,” Tony said, doing air quotes and rolling his eyes. “We could’ve had both demographics on your side and now we’ll have one. I don’t see how that works in your favor.”

“Look, Tony, I’m not naive enough to think that my platform will convert the crazy homophobes, but there’s got to be—”

“Steve. It’s my job to figure out the demographics and your messaging and how to spin this right.” Tony doesn’t have to say that Steve’s made his team’s job much harder for it, doesn’t need to say it. “Maybe next time just… run your ideas by the team before you execute. If that’s possible.” 

Steve ran a hand through his hair and sighed, staring at the table Tony had drawn on his window in an effort to keep himself from staring at Tony, instead.

“Anyway,” Tony said with a jolt, “I’m going to discuss tomorrow’s itinerary with the team. Along with everything else.”

“I’ll join you,” Steve said, straightening up and walking towards the door. He rested his hand on the small of Tony’s back as he led him out of the room. “I should probably say something, right?”

“Like an apology?” Tony laughed, turning to Steve as he pushed the door open. “God forbid you begin that habit now.” Steve huffed, dropping his hand from Tony’s back as he walked away. His hand tingled at the loss of warmth.

“I just want to reassure them that this isn’t that big of a deal,” Steve said. “I mean, it shouldn’t be, not anymore.”

“What do—Oh, Steve, seriously, it’s fine. No one gives a fuck. We can just go straight to our next steps,” Tony said.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “Obviously it’s not fine, and everyone gives a fuck!” Steve snapped. 

“You’re making as big a deal as the rest of them,” he said, quieter. 

Tony furrowed his brow. “Of course I am. Now they’ve identified a—well. I wouldn’t call it a weakness, but it’s certainly something that’ll draw people away from your platform and policies. I meant—I meant the team is fine. None of us are judging you. Frankly I’m a bit insulted that you’d think they would.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth—”

“That’s what you pay me to do!”

Steve raised his hands, placating. “Sorry. Sorry. I just, I knew this was bound to happen eventually, and I was hoping to do it on my own terms. Certainly not in the parking lot of a high school.” Steve turned away and rubbed his temples. “There should be a bootcamp for this,” he added, smiling ruefully.

“Well, there isn’t. And the team’s fine. Maybe a bit shocked at how quickly you got triggered to just throw it out there, but we’re used to rolling with the punches.” Tony clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed, in a gesture meant to be comforting.

“Well. It’s what I pay you for, right?”

Steve’s small campaign team had assembled in their largest meeting room: The Pantry. The still-relatively small room as a snug fit for all of them, as they had crowded around the two square tables and pushed appliances around to make room.

Bruce had dutifully wheeled in a whiteboard for Tony to write on, and everyone had rearranged the seating to face the board. In the corner, Clint was shovelling ramen into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. There was one chair in the middle of them all that was saved for Steve.

“Hey,” Tony said, twirling a pen in his hands. Steve cleared his throat. “Okay, well—go do,” Tony said, motioning to the space the team had made in front of the whiteboard.

“Hi team,” Steve said, nodding at them. “Today was, in a word, unexpected. But I know we’ll be okay, I know I’ll be okay, because you’ve got my back. We’ve weathered worse before, and I know that a month from now, we’ll all be in City Hall, laughing about the time a reporter pissed me off enough to get me to come out.” A small rumble of laughter rolled throughout the team. Steve smiled. “That’s all, really. Now, on to Tony’s capable hands.”

Tony rolled his eyes and bowed mock-graciously, “Thank you, sir. So main plan is deflect the shit out of this. Reporter comes and asks, ‘Hey Steve, so you’re gay,’ and the answer is ‘So what? It’s 2019, fuck that noise.’ Got it? Good.”

Bruce snorted and noisily opened his notebook. “Copy, boss.”

“Okay so: No media at the dinner tonight,” Tony said uncapping a marker and taking notes on the board. “Tomorrow morning we have?”

Pepper huffed from her perch on the couch Sam was seated on. “Roundtable interview with the Globe.”

Tony’s hand stopped scribbling. “I thought that was on Friday?”

“It’s Thursday today, Tony,” Bruce said. 

From the corner, Steve started to laugh. “I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.” Tony scowled at him before turning back to the board. “Okay, whatever, fine, a media roundtable, Bruce—”

“Revise talk points for tomorrow,” Bruce nodded at Tony.

“Prioritize our holding statement, I want it out before the dinner. Nat, anyone hounding you yet?”

“Just a few, most reporters are still covering Pierce’s event. We should expect him to say something about it, too.” Natasha said, eyes on her laptop which was balanced on her lap. 

“Yeah, obviously. So, okay. Bruce, get out of here and write. Pep, update him after.” Bruce stood up and stretched before walking out of the pantry.

“Okay, next?” Tony said, turning back to Pepper. 

“Then we have lunch with the Governor, and then a forum at the community college. Should be done with the day by five.”

“Fantastic,” Tony said, shaking his head. This was going to be a headache and a half. Steve smiled sheepishly at the rest of them, and said, “At least it’s not boring.”

* 

The office always looked eerie at night, the sheer blackness seeming to leak out of the spaces in the blinds. That could be a metaphor, if he wanted it to be. But he doesn’t.

Steve pulled out his keys to unlock the door, but found it open. He made a small sound of displeasure, turning the knob. Must have been Bruce or Tony, they were the ones who usually stayed up the latest, he thinks to himself. Steve pushed the door open and the light from Tony’s office illuminated the floor. Brow furrowed in confusion, he slowly made his way there.

Tony was standing with his back to him, reading on his tablet.

“What are you doing here?” Steve said, hand holding Tony’s door open.

Tony whirled around in surprise and almost dropped his glass. “Fuck!” He yelped, scrambling, then, “I fucking work here???” Tony answered, shrilly. “When did you become a super spy?” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve said, placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders in an attempt to ground the both of them. “I think I left my planner in my office,” he says, by way of explanation.

“Your what.” Tony said. 

“My… planner? With my notes? And schedule?” Steve squinted at him, confused. 

“A planner,” Tony said. “You—you know you have a phone, right? With like, a calendar synced across the team and with emails and, you know, a virtual notepad for your to-do list, do you even still have a to-do list, isn’t it all just Pepper,” Tony said, laughing a bit. “What the fuck, Steve.”

Steve smiled, rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “It sticks more when I write it down,” he said, by way of explanation.

Tony rolled his eyes fondly. “Sure. Okay. Clearly not sticking enough or you’d have remembered the round table interview you’re having later, before you—”

Steve glared at him and Tony stopped, then rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, walked back inside his office to and picked up where he left off.

“Found it,” Steve said, peeking into Tony’s room and waving his planner up triumphantly. “Congratulations, crisis averted,” Tony said from his desk, nodding at Steve.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Are you drinking on the job?” Steve walked into Tony’s room and held up Tony’s bottle of whiskey, and scrunched up his nose as he scrutinized it.

“Technically this is overtime work. I’m not on the clock,” Tony smirked and plucked the bottle from Steve’s hands.

Steve tsked. “Well if that’s the case, pour me one.”

Tony looked up from his laptop, measuring. “It’s late.”

“Technically, it’s early.”

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

Their gazes held, seeing who would back down first. Then, with a small sigh, Tony opened his bottom drawer and pulled out another glass, pouring Steve a drink. “I guess we deserve it.”

Steve took the glass from Tony and nodded in thanks. “Cheers,” Steve said. “To your bad temper and my constant headaches,” Tony said, laughing.

They drank in companionable silence on the couch in Tony’s office until Steve started to feel a pleasant buzz at the base of his skull. He was exhausted. So was Tony, but he always was. How couldn’t he be? It’s not like Steve had made it easy for him. 

“How did the dinner go?” Tony asked.

“Fine,” Steve said, before resting his head in his hands.

Tony reached over and placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing slowly over the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater. Steve rubbed at his temples uselessly.

Above him, Tony said, “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Steve said, noncommittal. He didn’t want to move, at least for a few more minutes. But Tony got up from the couch and motioned for Steve to do the same.

Steve was confused for a second, but instead of focusing on it, ambled over to Tony’s desk to pour himself another drink. Tony pushed his coffee table out of the way before reaching under the cushions to pull out the bed.

“Why don’t I have one of these?” Steve asked, frowning at the sofabed now unfurled in front of them.

“Because you shouldn’t sleep in your office,” Tony said, matter-of-fact.

Steve hummed in response and sipped his whiskey.

Tony grinned at him and plunked down on the bed, untucking his shirt for maximum comfort. Then, Tony stretched and let out a groan. “That’s the stuff,” he said, before patting the space beside him. “Come on.”

“Huh?”

“Lie down for a bit.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, his brain tripping over itself as it dutifully supplied reasons as to why he absolutely could not rest, at all, maybe ever, for the next month and a half. Also: What? Steve thought, helplessly.

Tony grumbled and waved him down. “Come on,”

Steve looked down at Tony and stopped himself from letting too much fondness deep into his smile. Then, he finished his drink, toed off his shoes, and lay down. Steve sighed as he felt his body settle into the thin cushion of the bed.

“See? It’s nice.” Tony said, eyes closed and lips quirked in the warm smile of victory.

Soon, Steve felt himself falling in and out of sleep, and almost imperceptibly felt the cushion dip as Tony shifted, trying to get comfortable. 

Steve turned and opened his eyes to be greeted the faint dusting of pink on Tony’s cheeks, the smell of whiskey wafting over the both of them. He squinted, checking to see if Tony was awake. And then, Tony’s arm was over Steve’s chest, his warm body flush against him. 

Steve held his breath and felt something soft and quiet bloom inside him. Ah, fuck. He shifted a bit closer and shut his eyes, willing away responsibility and reveling in the feeling of being touched. “Move your head,” Tony mumbled, then tucked his arm under Steve’s neck.

They continued to move around until they lay down comfortably wrapped around each other. Steve was quiet, afraid of breaking the spell. Friends could do this, get drunk and hug it out after a bad day. This is friendly, he reminded himself. Above him, Tony’s eyes were closed peacefully, and he shifted a bit so his nose was buried in Steve’s hair. Steve turned his head, and realized too late that he was too close—his mouth brushed against Tony’s neck, and in an effort to make it, well, not a kiss, Steve let his lips rest there.

They were quiet. Steve willed his body to remain relaxed as he inhaled Tony’s scent: Smoky, whiskey, and a bit of spice.

They were quiet for a long time, the air conditioning’s quiet hum the only sound in the room.

And then: “Hey, we’re not going to—“ Tony said to Steve’s hair.

“No, nope,” Steve said, his lips brushing against Tony’s neck with every word.

“Right. Okay.” Tony said, adjusting his arm to pat Steve’s shoulder.

“Yup. Fantastic.” Steve said, suddenly stilted and hoping he didn’t sound it. 

They lay for a few more minutes before Steve pulled away, struggling against the pull of sleep and the comfort of Tony’s chest.

“It’s late,” he said, sitting up.

“Technically, it’s early,” Tony said, smirking up at him from the bed. His shirt was rumpled, and Steve tore his gaze away from he exposed skin of Tony’s neck. His lips had just been there. Half of him wishes he’d done something. The other half had retreated into a small corner of his brain and was digging a grave for this memory.

“This was nice, though,” Steve said, and meant it.

“Yeah. Let’s do it again some time,” Tony said, sitting up as well.

Steve smiled at him before standing up. “Thanks for the drink. I owe you one.” Why do I keep smiling. Idiot.

Tony scratched his neck, nonchalant. “Yeah, you got a running tab.”

Steve huffed out a laugh before turning away to pick up his planner on Tony’s desk. “You should get some sleep. On a real bed,” he said.

“That an invitation?” Tony grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“For cuddles? Sure.” 

“Aw come on, you were supposed to blush at that.”

Steve smiled at Tony again as he walked to the door. “Can’t make it weird anymore, Tones!” He said, sing-song, in an effort to sound like nothing mattered.

Steve was a few steps out of Tony’s door and Tony suddenly pushed his door open. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve stopped and turned to face Tony. “Yeah?”

“We’re okay, right?”

Steve arched his eyebrow. “Yes…?”

“Okay, just, you know. Making sure.”

Steve nodded at him, resolute now that there was space between them. “Sometimes people just need some hugs,” he said. 

“Yes. Yeah,” Tony said. He nodded to himself. “Okay. Good night.”

Steve waved at him as he walked off. Yes. Yeah. Okay. People just need hugs. 

*

“I thought I told you to get some rest on an actual bed.”

Tony woke up slowly, and Steve could tell the moment he registered Steve standing at the foot of his couch, shaking him awake. Tony made a small sound of reluctance before he brought his wrist to his face to check the time.

Steve sat down on Tony’s coffee table and held up a mug. “Good morning, Tony,” he said.

Tony groaned and sat up. “Why are you here,” he said, voice raspy. Steve nudged Tony’s knee with the mug, and Tony looked down at its contents before taking it. “Thanks,” he added.

“I wanted to go through the talk points Bruce wrote,” Steve said, sipping from his own cup.

“Why?”

“I don’t really agree with—”

Tony held up his finger as he gulped down his coffee. “Okay,” he said, putting down the half empty mug. “Now I’m alive. Again?”

“With how we’re communicating our stance on sustainability,” Steve continued, as if Tony hadn’t interrupted him.

“Okay, what about it?” Tony stood up and walked over to his desk, powering up his laptop.

“I just feel like it’s too conversational? I want to highlight the big facts and processes, things we’ll actually enact,” Steve said, rising from Tony’s coffee table and following Tony.

Tony was scrolling through the Q&A sheet Bruce and Natasha had worked on the night before, with expected questions and bullet-point answers. Steve leaned down and read over Tony’s shoulder.

“While I understand where you’re coming from, we crafted these to make sure you get the soundbites in,” Tony’s voice had taken a mollifying tone that Steve has gotten used to; it’s the tone of deference. Steve hated it and he’d never get used to it.

Tony leaned back on his chair and looked up at Steve, waiting.

“But issues shouldn’t be reduced to soundbites,” Steve said, leaning back on the desk and looking down at Tony. Tony, whose shirt was still untucked and rumpled. Tony, who still managed to look handsome in spite of his chronic lack of sleep.

“Steve,” Tony said, his jaw tightening. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know, Tony, but I don’t like it.” Steve said. “We should be better than that.”

“It’s an hour before the interview,” Tony replied, already reaching for his phone. Steve glanced outside of Tony’s office: Pepper and Natasha were talking and pointing at something on Natasha’s laptop; Clint and Bucky were looking through photos; Sam was on his phone, video camera resting on his lap. Bruce was probably in the pantry, then.

“So Bruce has an hour.”

Tony didn’t look at Steve.

*

Everyone had given up on pretending they couldn’t feel the tension come off in waves from Steve’s office. They’d abandoned furtively sneaking glances and were all openly watching Tony gesticulate wildly at Steve. 

Steve kept shaking his head. Tony was pacing and looking up at the ceiling while talking, as if pleading with some higher power. Then, Pepper’s phone buzzed with an alarm. Everyone turned to look at her phone, and then at her.

“Okay kids, it’s showtime,” She said, drawing herself up to her full height before she walked up to Steve’s room.

Steve must’ve seen her arrival in the corner of his eye, because he got up from his chair. 

“You and I both know you’ll say whatever the hell you want to anyway!” Tony said, his back to Pepper.

Pepper coughed delicately into her fist. Tony’s body went rigid and he turned to her.

“We need to leave now, sir,” she said, smiling at the two of them as if nothing was wrong. Steve nodded at Pepper and picked up his jacket from his chair, adjusting his cuffs before putting it on.

“Do better,” he said to Tony, before shutting the door behind him.

*

Steve snuck a glance at his watch and turned back to a student who had used the question and answer portion of the event as a soapbox. “In sum, I think there should be an ordinance that requires community colleges to start vermicomposting. What do you think, Mr. Rogers?” she finished, a bit out of breath from speaking for so long.

Steve smiled at her. “Thank you for your question, and for your great input,” He started. “I do think vermicomposting is fascinating,” he added, “But it’ll be difficult to monitor with such a large scale. I do agree though that we need to look into different forms of waste management, particularly on the level of schools.”

In front of him, he saw Pepper whisper to the moderator. Almost time, then. The moderator stood and delivered a short message thanking Steve for his time, thanking the students for listening and participating, and then calling over the student organizers for a photo.

Steve stood in the middle of them all and flashed a wide smile. Beside him, one of the students turned to him and whispered, “Thanks, sir, for coming out yesterday.” Steve ducked his head to hear him better. “You’re really brave. I hope I can be that brave one day,” the boy continued.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. Around him, the students had noticed and formed a small circle. 

“Jason,” the boy said. Steve shook his hand and smiled. “Well Jason, thank you, too.”

*

Steve knew they were talking about him. He hated that there was an invisible wall between him and the team, one born out of necessity and propriety, one that said, you’re our candidate first, and unlikely friend second.

Steve leaned against the side of the door and listened. Bucky watched him from the couch, frowning. They’d just arrived from a friendly breakfast with other candidates in the slate, and for an hour, none of them talked shop. It was nice. And now, Steve had come back to an empty office and he knew, he knew that the team had taken the opportunity to discuss where they were at without him.

“You still have a month,” a vaguely familiar voice—Steve frowned. Nick? They’d invited Nick over to talk. Nick, a retired campaign manager who’d run Steve’s numbers before he even announced his decision to run, and who Tony had tapped to run focus group discussions on Steve’s taglines. 

“And a half,” Tony supplied. The rest of the room had gone quiet, as if they’d known they were being eavesdropped on.

“We’ll just need our events to be harder working,” Tony said. “And buy more airtime.”

“Will do,” Natasha answered.

“Anyway, these are still unofficial numbers, right?” Bruce said, sounding hopeful.

Nick snorted. “You’re still down by 5 points.” 

“He should be back soon,” Pepper chimed in, and then followed sounds of the team packing up, getting ready to file out.

Steve pushed himself off the wall and stalked back to his office. He wondered how Tony would break the news to him.

(He didn’t.)

*

Steve woke up to one message on Monday morning, but didn't read it until he was done with his run, had showered, and had a cup of coffee. He’d taken Tony’s advice to heart—advice he’d given after Steve announced his decision to run against the incumbent Mayor Alexander Pierce.

“If you want to make it to the end and keep your sanity intact, keep a routine,” Tony had said, all those months ago. “Shouldn’t be hard, with your background.” So Steve kept at his normal routine: Up at six, ready for work by eight, bed by midnight, at the latest. Well. He’d kept to most of his routine, anyway. No one could sensibly expect him to sleep when he needed to. 

Steve was fully dressed when he flicked his phone back to life to pull up the message. 

**Do not turn on the TV. Meeting at Nick & Nat at 9. I’ll bring bagels.**

Steve sighed, put down his phone, and turned on the TV.

*

Tony and Pepper were in the office when Steve and Bucky arrived. Bucky made a beeline for the pantry, drawn in by the offer of bagels, and generally uninterested in the numbers that would be discussed. All the needed to know was Steve’s schedule, and it riled him up to be up close to the politicking. 

Tony and Pepper looked up from Tony’s laptop. “Good morning,” Pepper said, evenly. “I’ll go talk to Bucky about today’s itinerary,” she added, excusing herself.

“Have a seat. And a bagel,” Tony said, shutting his laptop and pouring himself what Steve guessed would be his second coffee of the day. Steve nodded, spreading cream cheese on a bagel, mostly to give himself something to do. He wasn’t really hungry. 

“I’m assuming you turned on your TV. Or checked Twitter. Both? Maybe both.”

Steve hummed in response before taking a sizeable bite of the bagel, which was overflowing with cheese.

Tony stared at him for a beat, and then looked away.

Natasha and Nick arrived at nine on the dot. Natasha and Tony sat down beside Steve as Nick connected his laptop to the TV, ready with the survey results that they’d all already seen, anyway.

“So Pierce maintains his lead, and you’re down five points,” Nick skipped the pleasantries and dove right in, as he always did.

Tony, Steve, and Natasha were quiet. Tony patted Steve’s thigh, and let his hand rest there. Steve was grateful for the distraction.

Nick sighed, and began breaking down the demographics.

*

After the meeting with Nick, Tony had stalked out of the room, pack of cigarettes in hand.

“Those’ll kill you, you know.” Steve said, shutting the door to the office behind him.

Tony was scowling at his phone. And then he was scowling at Steve.

Steve shrugged in response.

“You never told me why, you know.” Tony said, apropos of nothing.

“What do you mean?”

“Why you had to say it. Why then,” Tony said, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve that had begun to roll down.

Steve stared at his mouth, then noticed himself staring. “Say what?” He asked, dumbly.

“Why you had to come out while everyone was streaming that ambush interview,” Tony said plucking the cigarette out of his mouth after taking a drag.

“I did tell you. I said I didn’t want to lie.”

“Well you didn’t have to fucking answer him, either!” Tony was suddenly all cold fury. Steve felt his stomach tighten, ready for a fight.

“There was a boy, last week, you know.” Steve said, his hands had balled into fists in an effort to calm down. “He thanked me. He thanked me for coming out.”

“Well that’s just lovely,” Tony’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe his one vote will beat out Pierce’s hundreds.”

“Maybe it will,” Steve ground out. “How many times do I need to say that I didn’t want to lie?” 

“Well if you didn’t want to lie then you could’ve fucking told me!”

“I didn’t know sexuality was integral to a campaign!” Steve yelled, feeling off balance and defensive. 

“It is if that’s what costs the campaign!” Tony said sharply, crushing his cigarette viciously against the ashtray. “For chrissake can’t you just stick to your goddamn talk points,” he finished, voice lower, eyes not meeting Steve’s.

Steve’s inhaled sharply. “I’m not some puppet you can dangle around,” he said. “I’m not paying you to write talk points. I’m paying you to win.” 

*

Tony didn’t really talk to him much, after that. Maybe Steve read too much into it. But his schedule had been filled to the brim and it’s not like he had much time to read into anything, anyway.

*

It was week before the elections. Steve sent Bucky home after dinner, opting to go over paperwork in his office rather than his desk at home. The rest of the office was dark, and the team had left for a few Saturday night drinks, taking advantage of the unspoken truce of Sunday. 

Steve startled at the sudden stop of music that was emanating through the shared wall between his office and Tony’s. 

“Hi,” Tony said from Steve’s door, he looked tentative has he held up a bottle and two glasses pinched between his fingers.

Steve sighed. “I am Very Tired,” he said, enunciating his last two words.

Tony let himself into Steve’s office and placed the bottle and two glasses on Steve’s desk. “Hello, Very Tired. I have a bottle of gin and some bad ideas.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at Tony, who had settled into the seat across him. Tony waited for Steve’s permission.

“Let’s see what shit sticks, then,” Steve said, and popped open the bottle. “This… certainly smells dangerous,” he said, the smell of gin and spices filling the room.

Tony huffed out a laugh and visibly relaxed, taking the glass Steve offered him. They drank in silence and Steve continued reading reports and signing papers. Tony left and came back with his laptop, and soon the only sounds between them were the soft taps of Tony typing out emails.

Steve stood up and stretched before refilling his glass and then slumping down on his couch. He knew that he wouldn’t be as productive seated there, it was too comfy—it had no business being that comfy in an office.

“This couch has no business being so comfy in my office,” Steve said, as he held up the first draft of his final campaign speech. He stared at the paper and waited for the letters to stop swimming.

Steve looked up, feeling Tony’s gaze on him. Tony was watching Steve from beneath his lashes, and Steve felt his breath catch. Steve turned back down to his speech quickly, clicking and unclicking his pen.

Sometime during Steve’s brave attempts at reading and Not Looking at Tony, Tony got up from his chair and had reclined on Steve’s couch, drinking as he scrolled on his phone. His knees were bent and his head was pillowed by his arm, keeping his head high enough so he didn’t struggle to sip from his glass.

Without thinking, Steve tapped his lap twice: An invitation that Tony took without missing a beat. Steve smiled and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d held. Once Tony had settled, Steve found his hand drawn to Tony’s soft hair, stroking it absently as he juggled between reading, and drinking, and refilling his glass, with one hand.

Tony had made small noises of pleasure that lit a fire in Steve’s gut. He prayed that it wouldn’t manifest physically. 

A drop of gin fell from his glass and landed squarely on Tony’s cheek. Steve reached down to rub it off just as Tony’s hand raised to do the same—Tony’s delayed reflexes meant that his hand landed squarely on top of Steve’s.

“Sorry,” Steve stammered, moving to pull his hand away. Tony’s hand gripped his, then relaxed as he pushed Steve’s hand to cup his cheek. Tony’s eyes were closed, his lashes thick and dark against his skin. Steve tried to focus on breathing.

Tony’s head turned, his lips ghosting over Steve’s wrist. Steve shuddered, then, suddenly, Tony turned his head away and he let go of Steve’s hand.

Alarm bells were going off his Steve’s brain, and he suddenly wished he wasn’t this many glasses of gin in. All he wanted was to have Tony’s lips pressed against his wrist again. All he wanted was to have Tony’s lips pressed against his anywhere, and Oh my god. 

Steve brought his hand back up to Tony’s hair in an attempt to bring things back to how casual they were minutes ago. Except, Tony shifted away and sat up. Steve downed his drink and belatedly noticed that Tony was seated right beside him, their legs touching.

They were quiet.

Tony swirled his glass before drinking. Steve reached out and held Tony’s wrist, not knowing anything other than the fact that his body ached for Tony’s warmth, anywhere, everywhere, now.

Tony looked up at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment, and Steve wasn’t imagining it, the space between them was closing—he could see how pink Tony’s lips were, the light dusting of stubble on his cheek. Steve licked his lips and saw Tony’s gaze track the movement.

Steve’s phone rang, and Tony slid away as Steve jumped up to find it.

The alarm signaling midnight continued to ring as Steve turned and watched as Tony left his office, laptop in hand. Steve squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

*

Steve stepped out of the car and was overwhelmed by a wall of sound: Camera shutters clicking, reporters hounding around him with questions. He flashed a smile and began walking to the polling center as Tony trailed behind him, greeting the media as he went.

Tony placed a hand on the small of Steve’s back, guiding him forward unnecessarily. Still, Steve was thankful for the gesture. He was nervous. They all were.

Steve had sent a message to the team the night before, thanking them for their work. Of course, this was after they’d all received a final report from Nick—Steve’s numbers were better, sure, but not good enough. Steve was sure Tony and the team had spoken about it, without him. All Steve got was the report. 

Once inside, Steve turned to the team: it didn’t have to be said that they’d all go together. He nodded at them. “Here we go.”

Tony reached out for a hug. For a moment, everything was silent. Tony turned up to look at Steve and pecked him on the cheek. “For good luck,” he said with a small smile.

“All I have to do is make sure I don’t tick the wrong name on the ballot,” Steve said with a laugh, pulling away to turn to the booth. He let out a small puff of breath and went in.

It felt surreal, seeing his name on the ballot, right beside Pierce’s. After all those months, all the forums, fundraisers, speeches—it had all led up to this. Everything, nothing, and over sooner than he thought it would be; Steve rubbed the space between his eyebrows, overwhelmed.

Tony was next in line, and they stood beside each other as they waited for the rest of the team to vote.

“Did you cry?” Tony whispered in Steve’s ear. Steve let out a small laugh. “Aw, Steve.” Tony said. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, I’m doing an informal study. First timers, they always cry. Even if only a little,” Tony said, smirking up at Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “Maybe.”

Tony’s smirk relaxed into a small smile. Steve felt Tony’s hand brush against his, then, as if having finally decided, Tony’s laced their fingers together. Steve kept his gaze forward, and smiled when Tony’s hand squeezed his before letting go.

Outside the polling station, the media had gathered neatly around a podium. Steve stepped up with Tony and Natasha flanking him. 

“Good morning, everyone.” Steve started. “Today is an important day for our city, and for our nation. Today, we get to make a decision that will affect the next four years. We hope that everyone takes this opportunity to exercise their civic duty, and choose wisely.” Steve nodded at the reporters. “Getting to today hasn’t been easy, but nothing ever good is. Meeting with people, listening to their stories of triumph and hardships, has given me an endless supply of reminders as to why we continue to fight. Now, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I’ve learned to trust in the people, and to trust in them to make the right decision.”

Steve flashed a smile for the cameras before stepping off the podium.

“Remind me again why we needed to hire Bruce?” Tony asked, taking Steve by the elbow as he led them to the car. Steve snorted. “I can talk. Bruce can write.”

Tony shook his head in response, opening the door for Steve before climbing in after him.

*

**Any plans tonight?**

**Well I was going to punch a bag until I passed out from exhaustion unless you have something better in mind**

**Want to watch the numbers come in**

**Not really**  
**Wait is that really what you were gonna do tonight**  


**I mean it’s my job**

**That sounds horrible**  
**I’ll bring snacks**

**  
**

*

Tony’s apartment was modern, sleek, and neat. 

“How did you find time to clean?” Steve asked as he looked around the room with barely concealed awe.

Tony shrugged in response as he shoved a bag of popcorn into the microwave. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home,” Tony said. Steve turned his head as he read the spines of the books on Tony’s shelves.

“I’m making myself a drink. Do you want one?” A beat. “Of course you want one, what am I saying.” Steve had never seen Tony this underdressed, just wearing an old tank top and sweatpants. Steve watched the muscles in Tony’s arm flex as he mixed their drinks, then let his eyes trail down Tony’s back and—Steve tore his eyes away and went back to looking through Tony’s extensive library.

The polls had closed over two hours ago, and all anyone could do was wait for the results to come in. Everyone had gone home, exhausted from all the on-ground efforts.

Tony had his laptop mirrored on the TV, a slow trickle of numbers coming in. Steve continued to work his way around Tony’s apartment, thankful for the distraction. He felt keyed up and tense, not knowing what to do with the nervous energy thrumming through his veins.

“Does it always feel this way?” Steve asked, as he took a glass from Tony.

“On tenterhooks, every time,” Tony said, sliding open the balcony door and stepping out. Steve followed, and raised Tony’s pack of cigarettes in silent question.

Tony looked confused for a moment, then nodded. Steve placed the cigarette between his lips and leaned over to Tony, who had clicked a lighter to life. Tony motioned to the chair and sat.

Steve sat beside him, their thighs pressed against each other. They were quiet as they sipped their drinks and smoked. Steve had thought about this, more than once: Just being alone with Tony, after that night, after both of those nights when they held each other and let themselves be held. Steve had turned it over and over in his mind, why he felt so comfortable around someone he’d met only barely a year ago, someone who was working with him (never for, Steve hated the idea of having people work for him like he was above them). Steve kept trying to figure out why someone who yelled at him a fair share—and who he’d yelled back at, too, sometimes—was someone he’d warmed towards rather than backed away from. Somehow, somewhere down the line, Steve had found a friend in Tony. But more than that, Steve found himself noticing the way Tony’s hands moved, the way he’d lick his lips after taking a sip of coffee, the way he’d keep touching everyone so casually. It drove Steve up the wall, trying to figure out if it ever meant anything, after those nights, after that time when their faces were so close Steve could feel Tony’s breath—Steve replayed that memory often. Steve thought about how things would’ve been different if he’d just leaned in a bit faster, or reached out to stop Tony from leaving, maybe finally know what it felt like to have Tony’s lips pressed against his. And then, Steve knew. Knew that he’d have to say something, and soon, because it would all be over soon, maybe (hopefully not), but Steve had to say something or else he’d explode.

Tony placed a hand on Steve’s knee and squeezed, jolting Steve out of his thoughts. Steve looked at Tony’s hand, and took a drag off his cigarette, tension beginning to pool in his stomach. Tony smiled at Steve, and Steve felt himself blush.

“Steve,” Tony started, and Steve shrugged off Tony’s hand and stood up, nervous now for different reasons.

“So. Okay, since, you know, we’re done with the campaign,” Steve said, beginning to pace and then stopping himself. “I should be honest.” 

“With you,” Steve added, turning to Tony, and then turning away just as quickly. “Because that’s what we always strove for, in this campaign. Honesty. It’s the best policy, if you ask me,” Steve said, taking another drag of his cigarette. He felt a bit wild. He wasn’t sure if his hands were shaking. He was pointedly not looking at Tony.

“Anyway,” Steve said, willing himself to keep going, or else he’d just never speak again, ever. “Here goes, right,” he added. Steve reached over to the table and pulled out another cigarette, lighting it quickly. Tony reached over and lit a new cigarette as well, uncharacteristically quiet, and Steve was both thankful and horrified in equal measure.

“I may have… lied? About the cuddling being normal, I mean it’s not abnormal it’s just, I wanted to do more than cuddle, that one time, actually no, both times, I wanted to kiss you—I want to kiss you, a lot, all over your beautiful damn face, okay, and, there, I. Yeah.” Steve let out a long breath. “See, that’s why we needed to hire Bruce,” he said, and even to his own ears, his laugh sounded panicked.

There was ash on Tony’s pant leg, meaning Tony hadn’t moved his hand, and Tony was staring at him. Steve touched the back of his neck, scratched a bit at the skin there, not really knowing what to do with his hands. Tony stood up from the bench and walked up to Steve, placing his hands on Steve’s arms, grounding him.

“You always have to beat me to it, don’t you,” Tony said quietly, as if more to himself than to Steve. Steve breathed. Tony looked up at him, a small smile on his lips. “Well are you going to kiss me or what, Rogers?”

Steve smiled so hard it was as if his face would break. Then he bent down and pressed his lips gently against Tony’s.

Tony nipped at his bottom lip and Steve felt his brain short circuit at the touch, then kiss got messy, their mouths barely separating and only for them to gasp in breaths before kissing again, greedy with want. 

Steve ran his hands down the length of Tony’s back as Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling them together closer. Tony let out a small, needy noise and Steve shuddered, needing more, needing absolutely everything.

Tony began moving them backwards into his apartment, dragging Steve expertly through his living room, their kiss breaking only briefly when Steve bumped into Tony’s coffee table.

Steve let out a low growl of frustration, and then hoisted Tony up against his hips.

“Oh Jesus,” Tony moaned, bending down to kiss Steve hungrily. Steve could feel Tony’s hardness pressing against his stomach, and a short burst of arousal zipped around his body as he walked towards Tony’s room.

They fell on Tony’s bed and laughed at how the sudden shift pushed the air out of them. Then Tony pushed Steve down onto the bed and began kissing down his neck, letting out a soft string of confessions and obscenities. “I can’t fucking believe,” Tony mumbled as he began unbuttoning Steve’s shirt. Steve’s hands were on Tony’s waist, and he ground up against Tony, desperate for friction.

Steve trailed his hand up Tony’s torso, stopping to pinch a nipple. Tony moaned into Steve’s chest, where he’d been trailing kisses as he unbuttoned Steve’s shirt. Steve pushed him away gently and tugged at Tony’s shirt, his cock straining even harder against his jeans now that Tony was shirtless. “Fuck,” Steve said reverently.

Tony smiled down at him and unfastened the last button, hands skating across Steve’s bare stomach. Steve sat up and kissed Tony again, his hands against Tony’s chest then moving out to grip his arms, then down to Tony’s hips, pushing Tony’s ass down. Tony’s hands moved to Steve’s fly, and he pulled away.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

Steve suddenly registered how Tony looked, eyes wide, lips pink from being kissed, perfectly coiffed hair now askew. Steve did that. He wanted to do more. Steve nodded enthusiastically, not trusting his voice from cracking.

Tony pulled Steve’s jeans and boxer briefs off before taking the opportunity to shuck off his sweats. Steve licked his lips as he surveyed Tony’s naked form, and then realized Tony was doing the same. Steve felt himself blush at the attention, before he leaned over and pulled Tony back on top of him, kissing him again, and again, and again, his skin on fire in every point of contact.

Steve flipped Tony onto his back easily. “I’m going to suck you off now,” he said, with probably more resolve than necessary. “I’m in heaven, aren’t I,” Tony groaned. Steve licked a small bead of precum off the top of Tony’s cock, reveling at the taste. Then, he took all of Tony’s cock in his mouth in one swift go, which elicited a strangled moan from Tony as he dragged his mouth back up and let Tony’s cock fall out of his mouth with a soft pop. “Now you are,” Steve said, grinning up at Tony, who had pushed himself up and was watching Steve, a look of wonder spread plainly on his face. Steve bent back down and continued to lick and suck Tony’s cock, his own arousal making him grind against the bed, fireworks going off in his brain when Tony reached down and tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulling and pushing along with Steve’s rhythm. “Please, please, please,” Tony moaned.

After a few moments, Tony pushed at Steve’s shoulder: “Mhn,” Tony said, eloquently. “Stop or I’m gonna—“ Steve wrapped his hand around the base of Tony’s cock and kissed the head sweetly. “Oh god, Steve, Steve,” Tony blathered, his hand moving from Steve’s shoulder and to the base of Steve’s skull. “Steve, please,” Tony moaned. 

“Can I fuck you?” Steve asked, his hand rubbing up and down Tony’s thigh.

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been asking for?” Tony hissed, falling back onto the bed in frustration, then Tony turned away to dig through his drawer.

Steve huffed out a small laugh, and kissed Tony’s hand when he was handed a small bottle of lube. Steve coaxed Tony’s knees up and kissed down his thigh as he spread some lube on his fingers.

Steve pressed his finger gently against Tony’s hole, and Tony groaned at the touch. “Come on,” he pleaded. 

Steve kissed the inside of Tony’s thigh as he pushed his finger in, curling it slowly. “That okay?” He murmured into Tony’s skin. Tony’s reached out and squeezed Steve’s shoulder, impatient: “More.” Steve pushed another finger in and licked a stripe of spit up Tony’s cock. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” Tony moaned, “more, please, faster.”

Steve began to suck Tony’s cock as he slowly slid another finger in, continuing to work Tony open. Tony buried his hands in Steve’s hair again, Steve’s hand on Tony’s hip stopping him from completely fucking Steve’s mouth.

“Fuck me.” Tony’s voice was barely above a whisper. Steve stuttered up, his body tight with arousal. “Please, Steve,” Tony added, his hand cupping Steve’s jaw, fingers soft against the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve crawled up against Tony, pressing kisses along his chest. Steve spent a few moments to kiss and bite Tony’s nipple, only for Tony to let out an impatient huff of breath, drawing a leg up and around Steve to pull him closer. 

Steve bent down and kissed Tony, smiling down at him as he pushed his cock in. They moaned at the same time, Steve screwing his eyes shut. Tony felt perfect. This was perfect. Steve continued to ease himself in, and Tony’s hands alternated between clawing at the sheets and raking fingers down his back, chanting Steve’s name all along.

“You feel so fucking good,” Steve ground out, fully inside Tony now, stopping his movements to let Tony adjust. “Fuuuuuuuck,” Tony mewled, his hands pawing uselessly at Steve’s chest, his fingernails leaving red lines in their wake.

Then Steve started fucking him in earnest, hot and wild and pressing open mouthed kisses anywhere he could reach Tony. Tony raised his hand to touch Steve’s cheek, and Steve turned his head and sucked in two of Tony’s fingers in his mouth, desire pooling heavy in his belly. He reached between them and gripped Tony’s cock, and Tony let out a choked sound: “Steve, fuck, I’m—I’m going to.” Tony came on Steve’s hand, coating their stomachs with his cum.

Steve eased back, but Tony gripped his hips quickly. “Keep going,” he said, smiling up at Steve, completely blissed out. Steve continued to move, and then Tony reached up and tweaked Steve’s nipple and Steve saw stars.

He collapsed beside Tony, breathing hard. Tony reached over and rubbed Steve’s chest. Steve picked up Tony’s hand and raised it to his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” Tony said, laughing a little. “I knew you’d be a sap. But not this much of a sap.”

Steve shrugged, continuing to dot Tony’s hand with little kisses, eventually moving up to his wrist, then forearm. “Can’t help it.”

Tony hummed in response, then eventually got up. He came back with a wet towel and rubbed them down, Steve still lying limp on the bed. “That really happened,” he said, brain to mouth filter completely gone. “Yeah,” Tony said, smiling at him, sharing the disbelief. Steve leaned up to kiss him.

Then, outside, both their phones started to ring. They startled out of their kiss and ran outside, both of them picking up their phones.

“Nick?”

“Are you seeing the numbers?” Nick asked levelly. Meanwhile, Steve could hear the high-pitched screeching emanating from Tony’s phone. Steve and Tony turned to the laptop, and Tony watched as he refreshed the screen, and then refreshed it again.

“Oh my god,” they said, finally making sense of the numbers displayed on the screen.

*

Steve stood in front of the media, silently going through the talk points Bruce had rushed last night. Behind him, he could feel Tony shifting from foot to foot, mirroring the frazzled energy coursing it’s way through Steve’s body.

“Good morning, everyone,” he started. “Today we celebrate successful elections, the indicator of people’s choice in the democratic process. This win is not and will never be solely mine; today, we stand here with the people’s trust and expectations on our shoulders, and we will remain eternally grateful for this opportunity to serve.” 

Steve flashed a smile for the cameras, then moved down to begin shaking hands with the reporters, many of whom he’d eventually become friends with.

“Mr. Rogers,” Steve nodded at the reporter who had essentially outed him to the world. “John,” Steve said offering his hand. John, the reporter, took it gratefully. Behind him, Steve noticed Tony making a face. 

“It was only polite,” Steve said to Tony, after extricating himself from small talk with the reporter.

“And I’m proud of you, as your campaign manager. As your friend, I’ve harbored some less than charitable thoughts,” Tony answered, picking a bit of lint off Steve’s jacket.

Steve smiled at Tony, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. “That’s okay. I’m charitable enough for the both of us,” Steve said, giving Tony’s hand a squeeze before letting go.

“That’s debatable,” Tony said promptly. Steve snorted in response, and then stopped when Tony’s words had sunk in.

“As my friend?” He asked.

Tony looked up at him from his phone. “What?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Tony Stark,” he said, unconsciously jutting his chin out, readying for an argument. “I would like to be more than your friend, eventually. Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?”

Tony furrowed his brow and shook his head, confused and a little peeved. “Tonight is your celebratory dinner with the team and funders,” he said.

“Tomorrow, then.” Steve said, not giving an inch.

Tony let out an exasperated sigh, “no, tomorrow you’ve got—” Steve let out a puff of breath and pulled Tony close, pressing his lips against Tony’s and then quickly pulling away.

“Steve,” Tony growled low. Around them, the room was silent.

Steve smiled serenely down at Tony. “I think as my chief of staff you’ll find some way to prioritize my personal time.”

Tony’s jaw clicked shut, then he let out a burst of laughter. “Congratulations to you too, Steve,” Tony said, projecting his voice to ensure that everyone in the room could hear. “I’ve always loved how affectionate you are,” he added, clapping his hand against Steve’s back in a move designed to look Strictly Friendly. He pulled Steve into a half hug and whispered, “I’m going to make you pay for this.” Tony’s breath against Steve’s ear sent a spike of electricity down Steve’s spine.

“Pretty sure I’m just asking you to do exactly what I pay you for,” Steve whispered back, and pulled away, starting small talk with the media as if nothing had happened. He didn’t want to make Tony’s job any harder than he’d already had. At least for now. 

Besides, he had a date to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on tumblr here.


End file.
